March 03, 2011

Come On In And Meet Everybody

I come from a long line of feisty Southern women—women with wit and wisdom, faith and strength. My maternal great-grandmother, "Little Mama" Wyatt, had nine children. Nine. (That's her with "Big Daddy" below.) All anybody can tell me about her is that “Little Mama read a lot.” Well, I guess so, after birthing nine kids. Among the nine was my grandmother, "Grandme."

Grandme had eight kids herself—three daughters and five sons—who were required to bring their whole families to her house for regular visits. What I remember about those days is a lot of laughter and storytelling, women in the kitchen and men on the front porch, cousins all over the place . . . and food.

Back then, hosting a family gathering meant cooking for forty people in a tiny kitchen with one oven, no microwave, no dishwasher, and about three feet of counter space. (And I whine because I don’t have a convection oven and an ice maker.) Once everybody was fed, the kitchen transformed into The Women’s Club. It was where the aunts and older female cousins cloistered to share secrets and the latest news (okay, maybe it was gossip). Today, Mama’s kitchen has taken on that role. No matter what the occasion, the women of the family always end up huddled around the kitchen table, coffee cups in hand, laughing and talking, comforting and encouraging, and of course, planning the next big meal.

I’m what you might call a late bloomer, domestically speaking. In my twenties and thirties, I was all about the career and didn’t get an inkling of nesting syndrome till I bought my first house at 35. That’s really when it started—a growing desire to plant my own tomatoes, fry my own chicken, and gather our circle of women around my own kitchen table. It’s a journey. And I have a lot to learn. But Mama's willing to teach me. So let’s fire up the coffee pot and get started.